Stolen Time
by little0bird
Summary: A series of moments in the lives of the characters of Harry Potter.
1. Absence of Fear

Wherever they were, it mirrored a place where they'd been happy. It looked like the house, down to the gouge on the banister where she'd dropped her cauldron while she was in school. Occasionally, they could see Teddy, but he wasn't sure about the passage of time. The tiny glimpses they were able to see didn't tell them much.

He didn't recognize himself at first. The absence of the myriad scars on his face and torso startled him. He hadn't noticed until she had said something, in the confusion afterwards, when they were still learning how to cope with their new situation. His hands fascinated him, especially. He couldn't recall a time when there hadn't been small lines crisscrossing the backs of his hands and fingers.

He lay on his back, watching the stars emerge from the inky night sky, unheeding of the snow packed under his body. Stargazing was so much better when it was cold. They stood out in sharp relief against the crisp winter skies. His eyes flicked to one side, and his mouth dropped open in disbelief.

He held up a hand in front of his face, a sense of wonder spreading through him. His face turned the to brightly shining full moon overhead.

Remus Lupin hadn't looked at the full moon without a sense of fear and trepidation for most of his life.

He didn't hear the sound of footsteps crunching through the snow behind him. 'What are you looking at?' she asked softly, crouching behind him, her arms encircling his waist.

'It's beautiful…' he breathed, indicating the moon. He turned his head, and ran his hand through Tonks' hair, watching the play of moonlight on the light brown waves. 'I've never seen it this way before.'


	2. Crack In the Facade

The two dark-haired men perched stiffly on a flat boulder, assiduously avoiding each other's gaze. Occasionally, one would run an agitated hand through his short, messy hair. The other kept his eyes fixed firmly on the toes of his shoes, his straight black hair forming curtains on either side of his face, effectively hiding his apprehension from the other man.

'How long are they going to sit there?' Sirius growled irritably.

'Well, you know Prongsie, Pads,' Remus said calmly. 'He's as stubborn as that rock they're on.'

'Men,' snorted Lily.

'Can't live with them, can't kill them,' Tonks added in an undertone.

'They've been there all bloody day,' sighed Sirius, kicking at a pebble.

'Come on,' Lily urged. 'Let's leave them in peace.'

'Do we have to?' Remus asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes, echoes of the Marauder shining through them. 'This ought to be entertaining…'

'Five Galleons that Sniv – Erm, I mean, Severus, breaks first,' Sirius choked.

'Oh, for the love of Godric Gryffindor,' huffed Tonks. 'Children. The lot of you.' The stern expression she wore nearly slipped as Remus beamed at her in childlike amusement. Her lips twitched, but Tonks tossed her head and stalked away. She couldn't stay angry at him for long when he displayed such unbridled joy, even if it was at his best friend's expense.

Lily nudged Sirius. 'Go on, then… Leave them be. They're not going to do a thing while we're treating them like some sort of show.'

Regretfully, Sirius pushed himself to his feet and wandered away, whistling softly through his teeth. He'd rabbit it out of James later.

Lily cleared her throat significantly, glaring at Remus, who sheepishly grinned and trailed after Tonks.

Lily stood in the shadows watching them, her arms wrapped around the trunk of a large elm tree. She was too far away to hear what they said, if anything at all.

The shadows began to lengthen, deepening in the fading daylight when James finally opened his mouth. His lips barely moved and it seemed to cost him a great deal of effort to expel the words. 'Thank you. For my son,' he said tightly, so low, Snape nearly had to ask him to repeat himself.

Snape briefly considered asking James to say it again, just to hear him concede this small measure of defeat. Instead, he nodded jerkily, his eyes still remaining on the toes of his shoes.

James grunted once in acknowledgement and rose from his seat. His eyes turned toward Lily, partially hidden by the large tree, but he could see the blaze of her hair shimmer in the gloom of the shadows it 

cast. He strode in her direction, pausing long enough to take her hand, and they disappeared into the valley.

Snape lingered on the boulder, biting back the bile that rose in the back of his throat.

It seemed some things never would change.

* * *

A/N: I guess I should have done this last chapter, but here goes... :)

This will be a lot of shorter moments that don't quite fit anywhere else, but mostly dealing with the characters we loved (or hated) who are gone. I'm going to try and keep them short like this.

I needed a bit of a break. :) A cleansing of the palate, if you will. :)

Thanks for letting me romp through my imagination. :)


	3. Forgive To Forget

Gone was the laughing, smiling boy of their youth. In his place was a bent, wizened, elderly man. It had startled Albus to see Gellert as an old man, but he mused to himself that it must equally startle Gellert to see him like this, his once-vibrant auburn hair gone silver with age.

Albus yearned to close the chasm between them. To forgive Gellert for everything. But he could still see the surprised, yet strangely blank, expression on his sister's face as she fell to the floor. To this day, Albus still didn't know exactly who had killed her. He couldn't forgive Gellert for destroying his illusions – mostly because it had colored the way he dealt with people. He had willfully attempted to maintain people's illusions of themselves to the point of nearly causing harm. It had nearly killed Harry when he was fifteen, because Albus had been so unwilling to pull down the carefully constructed delusion that all was well for Harry's sake.

Forgiveness was not something that came easily to Albus.

Even now.

Slowly, painfully, Albus closed his eyes to the one person he'd loved with total abandon and turned away. He couldn't do it.

Not yet.


	4. Watching and Waiting

'Let me go, Lily!' James strained against Lily's grasp, struggling to free himself.

'What do you think you're going to do, James?' she snarled.

'I don't know!'

'There's nothing you can do,' she declared.

James sagged against her, making Lily stagger a little under his weight. James was a good eight inches taller than she was. 'He's crying…' he whispered. 'He's crying, and they're not doing a damn thing to soothe him…' He rocked against Lily, his breath harsh in her ears. 'How can they just leave him like that?'

'I don't know…' Lily's murmur was anguished. She longed to cradle her baby, to cuddle him against her and quiet his cries.

* * *

'Look at him go!' James crowed. 'He's a bloody natural!'

'Wish you could be there, don't you?' Lily slid her arms around his waist, her head resting against his shoulder.

'He's brilliant,' James breathed. 'He ought to play for England someday.'

* * *

Lily sat huddled in the middle of the rug, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Her baby – not so much a baby now – had just faced death in the face. And lived once more. It wasn't the scene at the graveyard that made her want to weep. It was hearing his raw, grief-stricken sobs. They echoed in her bones.

She envied Molly Weasley, able to comfort Harry, when it should have been her.

* * *

James flinched as a firm smack landed on the back of his head. Sirius ducked, a smirk gracing his nearly-too handsome features. 'Stop it,' Lily commanded.

'I wish someone had given me that for my seventeenth birthday,' Sirius whistled softly. 'Didn't know he had it in him.'

James pointedly checked his watch. 'Bloody hell…' he said appreciatively. 'That's my boy…'

'Aw…' Sirius growled in disappointment. 'Ron always did have rotten timing.'

Lily's eyes popped open. 'Can I look now?'

'Yes,' James assured her. 'Ron interrupted.'

'Thank Merlin for small blessings,' Lily muttered. It had gotten far too passionate for her taste. They were still children, for goodness' sake.

'Got to wonder, Prongs, old boy… How far do you think they'd have gone if they hadn't been interrupted…?' Sirius muttered in an undertone.

* * *

Helpless.

It made Lily rage inwardly. This sense of utter helplessness. She watched as Harry's nightmares grew worse and worse, as he plunged into ever-widening gulfs of guilt.

And she was unable to do anything.

It wasn't fair. Mothers should be able to do something.

* * *

'Did you ever think he'd be getting married?'

'You mean when he was spitting up all over my last clean jumper?'

'Yeah.'

'No.'

James was silent for a moment, listening to Harry recited his vows to Ginny. 'I like her,' he murmured.

'So do I,' Lily replied, her breath catching as Harry slid Ginny's ring onto her finger.

'I love you,' James said, tipping Lily's face up, and dropping a soft kiss on her mouth.

'I love you, too.'

* * *

'James!' Lily ran through the valley. 'James! It's a boy! It's a boy!'

'It's over?'

'Yes!' Lily beamed with joy. 'He's perfect. Ten fingers, ten toes, and a head of messy black hair.'

'Hiya, Grannie,' James teased.

* * *

'He did what?' Sirius yelped.

Snape allowed a small smile to grace his features. 'Seems he named his child after me.'

'Is he spell-damaged?' Sirius growled.

'In case you forgot,' Snape drawled bitingly. 'I made it possible for him to destroy the Horcruxes, and thus destroy V-v-v-v-voldemort.' Snape glanced over his shoulder out of habit, still not comfortable saying the name.

'Fine,' grumbled Sirius. He glanced slyly at Snape. 'But his firstborn is named after me,' he crowed, unable to resist the urge to get in the last word.

* * *

'Oh! God! My eyes!' James clapped a hand over his face.

Remus glanced at James in bemusement. 'Dare I ask?'

'No. Just wait until Teddy gets married and shags his wife on his kitchen table,' James muttered.

One of Remus' eyebrows rose slowly into the hair that flopped into his eyes. 'Could have… Well, I was going to say I could have lived my whole life without hearing that, but seeing as how I'm dead…'

'Could have lived the rest of Teddy's life without hearing that,' suggested Tonks. 'And you should talk,' she added.

Remus coughed and blushed, looking abashed. 'Yes, well… We're talking about Harry now, aren't we…?'

* * *

'Our granddaughter's getting married…'

'Yes, she is.'

'Not sure I agree with her choice of spouse,' James grumbled.

'Oh, hush you. He makes her happy.'

'I suppose.'

Lily dug an elbow into James' ribs. 'If Harry's fine with it, you can be fine with it, too.'

James sighed. 'She's as beautiful as you were on our wedding day…'

* * *

'Lily, wake up…'

'What?' she mumbled sleepily.

'He's here,' James said simply.

'Oh, Ginny…' Lily sighed with a hitch in her breath. She'd grown to love the feisty woman who held her son's heart in her hands, and had done so steadfastly for decades. 'She'll be devastated.'

'I don't think she'll make him wait long,' James commented. 'Let's go.'

They stood at the edge of the valley, watching their son wend his way toward them, the conflicting emotions of unease, wonder, despair, and hesitant joy bombarding them in waves from the young man. Harry came to a stop in front of the pair, his mouth opening, but no words emerged. He fell into his parents' arms, the missing piece of his life settling gently into place.

Lily and James' arms wrapped around Harry, Lily's hand stroking Harry's untidy black hair in wonder. It had been white mere hours ago.

'Welcome home, son,' James murmured.

* * *

A/N: I've had a few questions about this version of the afterlife, so if you've heard this in a review reply, feel free to skip it. Or read it again. :)

My inspiration for this afterlife comes from Elmer Rice's play The Adding Machine. In it, Mr. Zero, the main character, is executed for murdering his boss. When he dies, he goes to a place called the Elysian Fields, and is met by the woman he loves. Unfortunately for them, Mr. Zero does not believe he deserves to be happy, so he's sent elsewhere.

Here, the characters are in the afterlife they deserve and what they feel they deserve. Hence, we can have a Remus without lycanthropy, who looks as he would had he not been a werewolf, a Sirius without the ravages of Azkaban... And a Dumbledore who is in the lovely place, but in an elderly body... uh, 'body'... because he has unresolved guilt and other issues. But seeing as he's not a bad person, Dumbledore deserves to be somewhere nice, but he believes he doesn't quite deserve the rest of it.


	5. Come To Realize

Tonks woke up, lifting her head as if it weighed a hundred pounds. She was curled on the sofa in the sitting room of her parents' house. _I don't remember coming back here_, she thought. _Maybe I was knocked silly and Remus brought me back here…_ Carefully, Tonks swung her feet to the floor and pushed herself to her feet. _I need to go feed Teddy_, she thought, staggering toward the stairs, rubbing a hand over her face to clear her head, as she began to ascend the stairs. Tonks stopped halfway up, unable to shake the sensation something was amiss. After the months and weeks of recognition of the signals her body sent her, she felt something was wrong. Her hand rose and pressed against her breast. The ever-present feeling of heaviness wasn't there. Tonks glanced down. She was wearing her favorite jeans. _I wasn't wearing those when I left the house… And I haven't been able to fit into them since my third month…_ 'I can't have been unconscious for that long…' Tonks continued up the stairs and dashed into Teddy's room.

It was empty. No cot, no small stuffed bunny, no rocking chair.

Feeling her heart still, Tonks turned into the bedroom she shared with Remus. The cradle wasn't next to the bed. 'Mum? Teddy?' She dashed down the stairs into the back garden. It was completely unfamiliar. 'Mum? Mum?' Shaking, Tonks sank to the dewy grass. _Where the bloody hell am I?_

* * *

As he faded from Harry's view, Remus turned to James, Lily, and Sirius. 'So now what?' he asked in bemusement. Before the others could answer, he heard a familiar echo vibrating through his bones. Without thinking, he turned and ran toward it.

Remus pelted through the valley, coming to a sudden stop at the sight of Tonks huddled on the grass. 'What in Godric's name are you doing here?' he blurted.

Tonks lifted her face from her drawn-up knees. 'I'd tell you if I knew exactly where "here" was,' she retorted tartly.

'I told you to stay home with Teddy!'

Tonks sprang to her feet. 'Where are we?' she shouted.

'You… you don't know?' Remus was visibly taken aback.

'Clearly.'

'Dora… You're… We're dead…'

'No…' she whispered, anguished.

'Why didn't you stay home with Teddy?' Remus asked harshly.

'I'm a bloody Auror,' she snapped. 'D'you honestly believe that I was just going to sit at home?' Tonks wrapped her arms around her ribcage. 'I wasn't going to let you fight this alone,' she ground out as she struck out for the edge of the valley. 'Don't you think I _was_ thinking about Teddy when I joined you?' she spat.

'Dora…' Remus reached for her.

'Don't touch me.'

* * *

Lily chewed her lower lip. She didn't feel it was her place to interfere, but Tonks had been sitting on a ridge that Lily had favored when Harry was still a baby for days. Not that time had any meaning here, but Tonks hadn't so much as moved since she arrived. Lily flipped her hair over her shoulder and strode to Tonks. She settled next to the younger woman and wrapped an arm around Tonks' trembling shoulders. 'I know it's difficult,' she began.

'I'm a terrible mother,' Tonks whispered raggedly.

'No. You're not.'

'You didn't abandon your baby.'

Lily sighed, and smoothed the tumbled hair from Tonks' face. 'No, I didn't. But if I'd had a real choice, I wouldn't be here, and Harry wouldn't have been raised by my sister.' She heard the grass behind her rustle and felt Remus' arm slip around his wife. Lily gently pulled her arm away from Tonks and stood up, breathing a sigh of relief as Tonks leaned into Remus.

'I'm sorry,' Remus murmured.

'I couldn't stay home,' Tonks wailed softly. 'I couldn't not do anything. I couldn't let _them_ win and make Teddy's life miserable. Or my life.'

Remus shifted guiltily. If the other side had won, she and Teddy would never have been able to live normal lives, because of him. 'I know…' Remus' hand tangled in Tonks' tumbled hair. 'I asked Harry to be his godfather,' he said tentatively. 'I meant to tell you earlier, but in the excitement of the moment, I forgot to say something.'

Tonks swiped a sleeve over her face. 'Why?'

Remus smiled a little grimly. 'If anyone would understand what this would be like for Teddy, it would be Harry.' He gently thumbed a tear from Tonks' face. 'Between your mum and Harry, Teddy will know what it's like to be loved. And if I know Harry, he won't ever let Teddy forget about us…'

* * *

Tonks' hand traced over Remus' back. There was something different that she couldn't put her finger on. She propped herself on one elbow, and spread her hand over his skin. She should have felt a web of old and faded scars laced under newer ones. But her fingers glided over smooth skin stretched over his shoulders. She pushed the hair that fell into Remus' face away, the silky strands slipping through her fingers. It had been heavily threaded with grey before, but not now. It was the color of the tuft of hair that graced Teddy's head, before it began to change. Frowning, she examined his face closely under the faint light of the stars. It was unscarred and unlined, save for a few lines around his eyes. He looked like the thirty-eight year-old man he should have been. 'What are you doing?'

The rumble of Remus' voice startled Tonks. She thought he had been sleeping. 'Have you noticed anything? Anything odd?'

Remus turned over on his back, enjoying the feel of the cool grass on his bare skin. 'Not particularly.'

Tonks lifted one of his hands, so the back was inches from his eyes. 'See anything out of the ordinary?' she demanded.

Remus pried his hand from Tonks' grasp, sitting up slowly. He held his hands up, turning them over. 'No scars…' He scrambled to his feet, twisting and turning, trying to see every possible inch of skin he could. 'No scars… anywhere…'

* * *

A/N: After doing Lily, I wanted to do Tonks and try and answer why she joined the fight at Hogwarts.


	6. Resurrection

­_I am about to die…_

The words echoed through the still valley.

Something stirred inside James, and he started toward the star-filled gap. He was joined silently by Lily, then Sirius, marching inexorably toward something they had known they would do since the moment they died.

The trio came to a sudden stop on the edge of opening between their world and Harry's. Remus stood there, a look of bewildered sadness on his face. He knew. He could feel the resonances of something else, but Harry's need was greater right now.

They passed through the starry gap and stood in front of Harry, whose eyes were tightly shut, clutching something securely in one hand. Lily surged toward him hungrily. James could tell she wanted to wrap her son in her arms and die for him all over again, if only it would spare him what he had to do. Harry's eyes flew open; and the taut expression on his face eased slightly, as he took in the people who had loved him most in life.

'Does it hurt?' he asked, flinching slightly at the childlike tone of his voice. Lily and James glanced at each other, unsure of how to answer Harry.

Sirius saved them. 'Dying? Not at all. Quicker and easier than falling asleep,' he quickly assured his godson. It was true in a way. Sirius just remembered the jet of green light from Bellatrix's wand, then… Nothing. Until he woke in the small house that resembled his old London flat. He tried to smile reassuringly at Harry, but felt his lips tremble.

Remus jumped in. 'And he will want it to be quick. He wants it over,' he blurted, seeing the shadow under Sirius' bravado.

James felt an overwhelming sense of pride for his son. His son. The child he'd given life three times before. What would happen next was anyone's guess. They didn't know if this was going to lead Harry to his death or back to his life. He stood between Lily and Sirius, watching the play of emotions on Harry's face, so very like his own, it was almost as if he was looking into a mirror. The breeze lifted the hair from Harry's brow, revealing the jagged scar. To James, it seemed to pulse with a life of its own. For as much as Harry had made many a life-threatening decision in his short life, he seemed unable to move under his own volition. 'You'll stay with me?' Harry asked softly, his eyes fixed on his father.

'Until the very end,' James said gruffly. And he meant it. He just didn't know when the end would be.

'They won't be able to see you?' Harry asked anxiously.

'We are part of you,' Sirius told him. 'Invisible to anyone else.'

Harry seemed to take comfort in that. He drew in a deep breath, his hand convulsing around his wand. He didn't move a muscle, but his eyes swiveled toward Lily. 'Stay close to me…' he murmured beseechingly. Lily nodded, and moved closer to Harry, her hand reaching for his. It was as close as she was able to do in terms of a motherly caress. Harry began to walk slowly into the Forest, Lily and James slightly in front of him, Sirius and Remus behind him. They could feel the fear and trepidation radiating off him in waves as he tripped and stumbled over the shadowed tree roots in his path.

Two Death Eaters emerged from the underbrush. Harry hesitated, looking to his parents for guidance. James nodded in what he hoped was encouragement, while Lily smiled at him, her bright green eyes brimming with love. She prayed Harry could feel it.

Harry swallowed heavily, and followed the Death Eaters deeper into the Forest into a clearing. Harry took a few steps beyond James and Lily. Sirius and Remus joined them, forming a line behind Harry. Lily clutched James' hand as Harry slowly pulled the Invisibility Cloak off his body, and stuffed it under his robes, along with his wand. Remus' eyes closed painfully when he saw Harry slide his wand into a pocket. He meant to face Voldemort unarmed, and unprotected.

'I was, it seems… mistaken,' Voldemort said regretfully.

'You weren't!' Harry's voice rang out clearly in the night. Sirius had never been prouder of Harry than he was at this moment. Sirius knew Harry was terrified, but he would rather kiss Snape than let anyone see he was frightened right now.

Harry took one step into the clearing. Then two. Remus saw something slip from Harry's sweaty fist.

In the blink of an eye, the four of them were in a valley, standing near a small gap in the hills that surrounded them.

It was where they had begun.

Lily stood with her face buried in James' chest, his arms around her. He rocked her soothingly, murmuring nonsense into her hair. 'He'll be okay,' James kept repeating.

There was a flash like lightening over the tranquil valley, and Lily's head reared back, as it seared through her closed eyelids. She turned and gazed expectantly at the gap… Waiting.

'He's not coming, Lils,' James said sadly. She shook her head, and pulled herself from his grasp, pelting down the valley.

James' eyes lifted to the star-strewn night sky, the ache of separation more acute than ever. For as much as James had wanted it, too, he knew Harry's place was among the living.

For now.

* * *

A/N: Most of the dialogue in this chapter comes from _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_, US hardback edition, Scholastic, pages 698-703.

I know these have been a bit on the depressing side, so as always when something emotional is posted for you, I leave you a big pile of Hydrox cookies, and those M&Ms with milk, dark, and white chocolate swirled together. Lots of them...


	7. Better Late Than Never

Ginny sighed as she slowly made her way up the stairs. She had finally gotten Lily to go home, along with James and Al, too. Ever since Harry had died, they'd hovered over her, like she was going to take a header off her broom out of grief.

She had found him, sprawled across the sofa, his glasses tucked into a shirt pocket. Ginny hadn't realized anything was wrong until she tried to wake him for dinner. It was where James had found her when he came by for dinner with Maya. It had been James who alerted Ron and Hermione, sent a frantic message to Albus, Lily, and Teddy.

Teddy and Victoire had come immediately. Teddy, bless him, took charge, as soon as he saw the numbness that had draped over Ginny. Harry hadn't wanted a large funeral, nor even a memorial. Teddy had seen to it that his wishes were granted. Ginny had slid Harry's glasses over his nose before they closed his coffin. He didn't look right without them. She'd also slipped his beloved wand into his pocket. He'd never slept without it close by. Not once in all the years since Riddle's defeat, had it not been under his pillow or on the night table next to him.

Ginny stood next to the wide bed with a pang. It felt empty at night without him. She missed having him unwind her plait, or the feel of his hand wrapped around hers as he fell asleep. She fingered the worn gold circlet suspended on a chain around her neck. She hadn't had the heart to bury him with his wedding ring. She couldn't let it go.

She sighed again, and slid stiffly into the bed, her hand resting on Harry's pillow, its scent that told her he had slept there faded now.

* * *

'_Hiya,' Harry said softly. He reached across the bed, and brushed a lock of hair from Ginny's eyes._

'_I've missed you,' Ginny sniffed, feeling her eyes burn as unshed tears welled up._

'_I've missed you, too,' Harry admitted. 'It's not the same without you.'_

'_No, it's not,' Ginny agreed. 'I don't want to do this anymore…' she confessed hoarsely. _

'_Who says you have to?' Harry asked gently. 'You've always done what you wanted, Gin. No reason to stop now.'_

'_But…'_

'_But, what?'_

'_They'll be so lost…'_

'_Who?' Harry snorted. 'The children?'_

'_No, you git,' Ginny laughed softly. 'They'll be fine. But where will Joey, Michael, Cassandra, Stephanie, Kat, Fiona, Benjamin, Christopher, or Anthony come when they need biscuits and flying lessons?'_

_Harry smiled. 'Considering their great-grandparents aren't exactly slouches at the flying, they'll be all right. Al can still catch a Snitch faster than most recreational wizards or witches.' Harry leaned over Ginny and brushed his lips over hers. 'It's okay to let go, Ginny.' He grinned crookedly. 'I'll be waiting.'_

* * *

Harry paced impatiently, to the amusement of his parents. 'We waited nearly a hundred years,' commented Lily. 'Surely you can wait a few more… Weeks, months.'

'She'll be here when she's ready,' James added. 'That's how it normally works.'

'Still sulking?' Sirius said, coming up behind Harry.

'I'm not sulking,' Harry muttered, his attention pulled away by a flash of something in the sunlight. 'Gin?' he whispered, walking slowly toward a figure in the shadows. He wrapped his arms around her, inhaling the scent of her hair. That had never changed, even as they aged.

'Sorry I'm so late,' she murmured.

* * *

A/N: A tad different from the others, but I hope you like it.


	8. A Question of Surroundings

The first thing Severus Snape saw was a pair of bright green eyes. He blinked several times to clear his cloudy vision, thinking it was just Harry, that he hadn't died in a pool of his own blood – he'd just passed out. He visibly started as Lily came into view. 'I died.'

'Yes.'

Severus slowly sat up, glancing around his unfamiliar surroundings, his hand automatically darting to his neck, where two distinct puncture wounds were fading into nothingness. It was decidedly peaceful. Tranquil, even. Not something Severus had ever known in his life. He rubbed his still-pounding head, unsure of what to say next. His mouth worked soundlessly for several moments. 'It was like looking at you every day,' he said softly. 'Those eyes…' He shook his head slowly. 'It just ripped me to pieces to see the loathing and hate in your eyes every day.'

Lily sighed and lowered herself to the ground, grateful for once that time had its own flow here. 'Did you have to be so shirty with him all the time, Sev?'

Severus' eyes closed painfully. 'I had to. Surely you ought to know how extraordinarily difficult it is to play both sides?'

'You were total crap as a teacher,' Lily snorted.

'I wasn't that bad!' Severus, exclaimed, stung.

'Yes, you were.' Lily flipped her hair over her shoulder. 'You always forgot that everyone didn't know as much as you. Especially first year students. I've seen Harry do potions work. He's not bad. Not as good as I was, of course,' she added. 'But I was better than even you,' she said smugly. 'All he needed was a good foundation with it. That was all most of them needed. Something you rather neglected to do,' Lily pointed out.

'As always, you have a way of pointing out my shortcomings in a way nobody else can,' Severus said sardonically.

'If your friends can't do that, who can?' Lily asked flippantly.

'Are we?'

'It wasn't you I disliked, Sev. It was your choices.' Lily glanced over her shoulder, suddenly tense. 'I have to go…' Without another word, she scurried away, her strides lengthening until she was running headlong toward something.

Severus sighed and took the opportunity to examine his situation more closely, without the added distraction of Lily.

It was beautiful.

He cautiously got to his feet and began to pace around restlessly. With a pang, he thought of Charity Burbage. He could see her pleading eyes, begging him for succor that he had been unable to provide. 

He had known Charity for over a decade. He'd shared meals with her, the occasional glass of wine or mead during a holiday. She was a kind soul who never had a shred of malice for anyone. Not even for the people who could spew the most rancorous hate-filled invective against Muggles.

'I don't deserve this…' he murmured piteously, feeling even more disgusted with himself now than he had when he was alive.

A/N: I think I might do a second part to this particular chapter. I think Snape got quite the raw deal in life. But that's just my opinion.

And, yes, I'm back from the Ike-imposed power outage! Yay! Thanks to everyone who sent kind thoughts. I'm fine, and didn't (miraculously!) suffer any kind of damage to my apartment. I'm very lucky. I only lost the food in my refrigerator. It could have been worse. So many people lost everything down here on the Texas Gulf coast.


	9. Just Deserts

Severus hovered uncertainly on the edge the valley, waiting for Lily to return. He wondered what had taken her away so suddenly, wincing when a great bolt of lightening bisected the sky, shattering the peaceful tranquility. It left a decidedly bitter taste in Serverus' mouth. He didn't notice the other man who had joined him until he spoke. 'Well?'

Severus turned sharply, coming face-to-face with Albus Dumbledore. 'This is…' Severus shrugged irritably. 'Why am I here?'

'Where were you supposed to go?' Dumbledore asked lightly.

'Not this.' Severus waved a hand at the valley. 'I don't…'

'None of us do, Severus,' Dumbledore said gently. 'Or at least we don't think we do.'

Severus hunched his shoulders and strode away. 'And I least of all,' he said with a glower. He walked endless miles until he found somewhere suitable for his mood.

How long he occupied the jagged boulder, staring over a windswept barren, he did not know. He was lost in thought, something that had become a rather uncomfortable habit lately, as it severely limited his awareness of his environment. 'You think you're the only one?' Lily said softly, clambering up to sit next to him. 'You think you're the only one who doesn't deserve something nice?' She shook her head, her bright eyes clouded with sadness. 'I let my son be raised by my sister and her bloody lout of a husband. I let him suffer untold abuse at the hands of his own relatives.'

'You didn't –' Severus began. He was cut off abruptly by Lily.

'I had a choice,' she spat.

'You would have died either way,' Severus said bluntly. 'Your way was better in the long run.'

'Why were you so horrid to him?' she asked plaintively.

'I had to be,' he said coldly. 'Do you think I would have lived long enough to get him to where he is now, if I'd let myself be swayed by the fact he's your son?' Severus drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, in an unconscious echo of his childhood. 'It was never about him,' he added.

'And that justifies how you treated him?' Lily retorted indignantly.

Severus clutched his hair in his hands. 'No,' he admitted, feeling as if the one word had been ripped from his chest. 'I didn't care about him,' he grunted. 'It was for you…' Heaving a sigh, Severus tipped his head back to gaze at the sky overhead. 'And yet another sin to add to the veritable catalogue of why I don't deserve this.'

'You haven't learned anything, have you?' Lily slid off the boulder and stalked off.

Severus rested his forehead on his knees, his hair swinging forward, effectively blocking his view of the area around him. He didn't see James cautiously approach, but he heard him slide onto the boulder next to him. Severus straightened up warily. He didn't have the best relationship with James in life, and he wasn't sure how James would react to his presence. Severus glanced at James sideways, wondering why he was there. He resolved to keep silent. _He can speak first…_

Several times that long day, James acted as if he was about to speak, but it wasn't until the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the valley did he grudgingly mutter, 'Thank you. For my son.'

Severus nodded, shrugging a little. He had seen Lily from the corner of his eye and thought she might have forced James to do it. Watching her go off with James left a bitter taste of bile in the back of his throat.

* * *

The rain didn't surprise Severus. He considered it appropriate that his funeral was beset by rain and a pervasive chill, when the others' had absurdly sunny days. He wasn't even surprised by the lack of attendees. It was only to be expected. He was a traitor as far as the rest of the wizarding world was concerned.

What surprised him was that Harry had undertaken the responsibility to bury him.

What surprised him more was how much it hadn't bothered him.

* * *

He mainly kept to himself as he had in life, but one day, unable to stand it any longer, he sought out Dumbledore. 'Why?'

'Why what?'

'Why did I end up… here?'

Dumbledore sighed and began stroking his beard. 'As much as you think you don't deserve this, Severus, in some ways, you still remain a prisoner of your own guilt.'

'I don't understand…'

'Ah. You haven't seen yourself, have you?'

'No.'

Dumbledore tilted his head back and gazed at the stars overhead. 'You receive what you deserve here, Severus, do not doubt that.'

'What does seeing myself have to do with that?'

'Surely you've noticed the others?'

Severus shook his head. 'I have not.'

'Suffice to say, Severus, that you do, indeed, receive your just deserts.' With that mysterious pronouncement, Dumbledore strode away, deliberately shaking the sleeve of his robes back, his right hand clearly visible.

It was whole.

For the next several days, Severus skulked on the edges of the valley and the surrounding areas. He noticed Sirius first. Sirius had borne the ravages of the long years of imprisonment when alive, but he looked like he should have when he died, had he never been in Azkaban.

Remus was unscarred, seemingly untouched by his lycanthropy. And as far as Severus could tell, the full moon had come and gone, and Remus was completely oblivious to it. The lines of worry that had begun to etch themselves into Nymphdora's face two years ago were gone.

Prodded by Dumbledore's inquiry as to whether or not he'd seen himself, Severus found a clear, still pool of water, and leaned over it.

He looked exactly the same. The puncture wounds that had marred his neck after Nagini had bitten him were mere shadows, but there were still there all the same. Severus raised a hand and slowly traced the furrows that snaked their way over his face.

'Do you understand now?'

Severus turned sharply. Lily was standing behind him. She crammed her hands into the pockets of her skirt. 'You sacrificed so much, Sev. Everything, really. And you lost everything.' She paused and darted a glance at him from her corner of her eye. 'You weren't quite as altruistic in your methodologies as you could have been though. Something I don't necessarily agree with, but you still made it possible for my son to survive.'

'I was under the impression that he did that himself.'

'You got him there.' At Severus' confused look, Lily sighed and shook her head. 'You still don't get it.' She settled on the ground, tucking her skirt around her knees. 'Take Remus for example,' she began. 'Even though I know it's going to kill you.' Lily's mouth twitched. 'If you weren't already dead.'

Severus shot her a look that bordered on disgust. 'You find this amusing?' He folded himself to the ground next to Lily.

'You have to. As I was saying, Remus did nothing to deserve becoming a werewolf, so why should he be punished with it now? Did he make mistakes? Of course. Will he pay for them?' Lily shrugged. 'That's up to Remus and his conscience.' She gently touched the back of Severus' hand. 'And the same goes for you. Fate, or God, or whatever – if you believe in something like that – thinks you ought to be here. You think you deserve something less… pleasant.' Lily gazed at the sun-drenched valley for a moment. 'You're a compromise, Sev.' She got to her feet. 'Like the rest of us.'


	10. A Little Oblivion

Fred unconsciously tied and untied the laces of his trainers.

He had refused to leave the small room, much to Gideon and Fabian's dismay. He preferred to stay closeted away from everyone else.

It wasn't that Fred was miserable in any way. Quite the opposite. He was angry, furious even. Not because George had lived. Because he had died.

Fred had never once seriously entertained the idea that he would die during the war. Not after the night they brought Harry to the Burrow from his relatives' house when Moody was killed and George nearly died when Snape severed his ear from his head. Not even in the debacle after Bill's wedding when the reception was overrun by Death Eaters. Not in all those weeks and months later, when they dreaded the sound of the door opening of the shop. It could have been one of Voldemort's minions who would drag you away, never to be seen again. Nor even that night when George, white-faced and eyes wide and staring, forced Fred to promise to have "Mischief Managed" put on his tombstone if he died. It was a promise Fred readily agreed to, but mostly to make George hush up about it. Not even after George solemnly swore to do the same for Fred if he died. Not even as he and George fished out their DA coins and sent messages telling all the old DA members to go to Hogwarts.

Up to the moment when he stood next to Percy, battling Death Eaters in the corridor, cracking jokes, and feeling an odd sense of pride that his swotty older brother had finally made a joke, Fred didn't think he was going to die.

He never heard the explosion that sent the wall crashing down on him.

Fred had lashed out at everybody in the beginning, decrying it all as an elaborate joke, especially since Remus and Tonks were there. He had heard stories about the kinds of pranks Remus and his mates could pull when they were at school, and Fred wouldn't put it past him to yank his chain like this – just to prove the old dog could still teach the young pup a thing or two. He even thought Harry and Ginny were in on it, too, until he realized the man with Harry's face and hair wasn't Harry, and the woman had bright green eyes, and not Ginny's wide, dark ones.

That was the moment Fred knew he was dead.

He had turned into the first building he came to, as he ran away from the group of people, unable to face the reality to which he had awakened.

Fred heard the door open slowly, but ignored the person who walked into the room. They had come in every so often – Remus, Sirius, Dumbledore, Fabian, Gideon, Tonks, even Lily and James – to try and persuade him to leave the room. But Fred merely continued to ignore them in stony silence until they gave up and left.

'Nobody _wants_ to be here, Fred,' Gideon said softly. 'Especially when you've been forced to come before your time.'

Fred said nothing, and continued to incessantly fiddle with the laces of his trainers.

Gideon sighed, and settled on the window seat next to Fred. 'Look, I know how you feel…'

Fred's head snapped up violently. 'You _don't_ know,' he spat. 'Your twin died with you.' He slid off the window seat and began to pace restlessly. 'And mine… Mine is still alive.'

'You think George wanted it to be this way?' Gideon asked incredulously. 'The only reason Fabian and I died together is that we were ambushed by eight Death Eaters while on our way to the Burrow after a meeting with the Order.' Gideon's head slowly swiveled as he watched Fred's progress across the room. 'If they'd sent even two or three fewer goons, one of us would probably have lived. We took down three of them before they got us,' he added, a hint of pride creeping into his voice.

'At least you didn't have to be alone…' Fred muttered despairingly. 'It's like I can't even _think_ without him.'

'You're not alone, Fred.' Gideon unfolded his lanky frame from the window seat and started to leave. 'It's just different than what you're used to.' He opened the door and turned back to Fred, standing in the middle of the room. 'One day, George will be here. And it'll be like you two were never apart.'

As Gideon closed the door, Fred thought he heard him say, 'I promise you that…'


	11. Double Meaning

Bellatrix laughed.

It was a sound that would have frozen the blood in anything remotely human.

She threw her head back, laughing in triumph before the flash of green light sent her crashing to the stone floor of the Great Hall, her face frozen in psychotic glee.

She was still laughing when she opened her eyes and found herself to be surrounded by rocky cliffs, shrouded in dark swirls of fog. _That bitch couldn't have killed me!_ she thought. _It's some sort of Apparition the Order made up…_

Bellatrix pulled out her wand and turned.

Nothing happened.

_Maybe there's an Anti-Apparition Jinx_ _on the shore…_

Bellatrix stomped to a nearby boulder and plopped onto it, unheeding of the sharp, jagged edges digging into her bum. The toes of one foot started tapping a rapid, impatient tattoo on the rocks.

When the expected help did not arrive, Bellatrix imperiously held her arm out and rolled up the left sleeve of her robes. Without looking, she swept the tip of her wand up and over, letting it rest on the skin halfway up the inside of her forearm.

Like before, nothing happened.

Confused, Bellatrix looked down at her arm. It was smooth and clear.

Her howls of pain and rage echoed across the shore.

* * *

Severus settled into the hollowed-out space under a tree. He spent a great deal of time there. It reminded him of the many hours he'd spent in the play park as a child, hiding under the shrubbery. Oddly, it didn't bring him many painful memories. It was when his life had actually made sense. And even now, he could pretend Lily still fancied him. While the fantasies were cold comfort, indeed, they were better than the nothing he had now.

He let his eyes drift shut, while he unconsciously pushed the sleeves of his robes back. He paused in the act of pushing the left one back. Severus hadn't worn anything save long sleeves in over seventeen years. He supposed now it didn't really matter anymore. Shrugging, he shoved the left sleeve over his elbow and stared in shock at his arm.

The Dark Mark was gone.

Trembling fingers swept across the skin, over and over, seeking reassurance that it was really and truly gone.

Quite unbidden, a smile crept across Severus' face, as he realized for the first time, in over half his life, he was free.


	12. Fathers and Sons

A/N: Anthony Quinn is sort of an OC, but not really. The character is canon, but the name is mine.

*****

Anthony took the list from his wife, Olivia, and tucked it into his pocket. He kissed Olivia and opened the door, promising he'd be back in a few minutes. He walked out of the small flat in West Ham and darted into an alley to Disapparate and purchase the nappies in another part of London. He'd disappeared from the wizarding world a year and half ago, when he'd married Olivia. It was for her protection – she was a Muggle and Anthony hadn't told his wife what he was. He supposed in a couple of years, maybe, when Dean started displaying magical ability. Or maybe when You-Know-Who was finally defeated. Anthony prayed it would be soon, and he could owl his mother with news of his marriage and his son.

It started to rain, and Anthony zipped up his jacket, jamming his hands into his pockets, his shoulders hunched against the drizzle. Normally, he was more aware of his surroundings, more careful about whom he made eye contact with, but tonight, he bent his head against the cold mist that crept into the opening of his jacket.

Anthony darted into a Tesco and emerged with a package of nappies and a bottle of talcum powder ten minutes later. He turned into an alley, so he could Apparate back to West Ham. The feel of a wand in his back made him squeak in surprise and drop the nappies. A hand clamped over his mouth and Anthony Disapparated with a large man in a black cloak, with a skull for a face.

*****

Dean began to cry fretfully, and Olivia counted the number of nappies that were left. Certainly, they had enough to wait until Anthony returned, but he'd never been gone this long before. Not when he just went for nappies or something. She swiftly changed Dean and began to pace around the small flat. Waiting.

*****

Anthony lay on the floor, panting, aching in every inch of his body. Macnair and Mulciber were enjoying this far too much. Using the Cruciatus curse to try and convince him to join them. Every time they lifted the curse, they repeated their question: Are you going to join us? And every time the answer was an emphatic "no". At least it was while he could still speak. He wasn't even able to form words now, his teeth were chattering too hard. He was reduced to shaking his head in reply to their sneering questions.

'He's not goin' to join us,' Macnair muttered to Mulciber.

Mulciber shook his head. 'No.' He raised his wand. 'If he's not going to join us…'

Anthony froze when he saw the green jet of light fly toward him. Time seemed to slow to a crawl and his thoughts were full of his wife and son.

The spell hit, and he lay still and unmoving on the dirty floor of the abandoned flat.

'Transfigure him into some rubbish,' Mulciber grunted. 'Throw him in a bin somewhere. Barty says they'll never find him that way.'


	13. Keep Myself Away

'Can he hear me?'

Fabian shook his head. 'No. He'll think it's a dream or something. Even if he was awake he'd not be able to hear you.'

'Can I touch him?'

Fabian shrugged. 'He won't feel it. Well, that's not entirely true. He'll feel it, but he'll think it's the wind. It's like what Tonks does with her son.'

Fred reached out tentatively and experimentally ran a hand over George's hair. George twitched in his sleep, one hand brushing over his face. 'How come he can't hear me?'

'Because you don't really exist here,' Fabian explained. 'You're not like a ghost.'

Fred snickered. 'Do you know how funny that sounds? He can hear Nearly-Headless Nick, but he can't hear me…'

'That is one drawback to not being a real ghost,' Fabian allowed. 'But they always stay like that…'

Fred pulled at his shirt fretfully. 'Can I be alone with him?'

'Sure. I'll be just outside, then.'

Fred waited until Fabian had left then turned back to George. 'Hey, bro…' He paused, unsure of what to say next. 'Will you stop being such a girl?' he exploded. 'Grow a pair and tell her how you feel. I'm almost embarrassed to call you my twin!' Fred stopped and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. 'I don't mean that… But, honestly, George… You can't just hide yourself away like that… Just because I'm gone doesn't mean you have to stop living. But if you do end up with her, you have to name your firstborn son after me. Is that a deal? Good.

'Ron's doing… I'm… He's doing a good job,' Fred said grudgingly. 'Who knew Ickle Ronnikins knew so much about what people want?'

Fred pushed his hands into his pockets, swallowing heavily. 'It… It w-w-wasn't Percy's fault… I mean it wasn't his fault about me… Knowing Perce, he's buried it so far down he hasn't had a chance to deal with it yet. None of us could have seen that explosion coming. It was just bad luck. It could have been Perce, or Ron, or Hermione, or Harry, just as easily as it was me…

'See you around, bro…'

Fred turned and began to walk toward the door, disappearing before he could walk through it.

George's eyes opened suddenly, and he sat up, his pajamas twisted around his body. He glanced suspiciously around the room. He could have sworn someone had been in there, talking to him, but the door was still firmly shut. He slid back down into the bed and closed it his eyes. _Must have been a dream…_


	14. Canis Major

He remembered standing next to Harry, side-by-side, curses and hexes flying off the tips of their wands. He remembered battling Bellatrix, his mad cousin. He laughed because he was free of the house, filled with a glee he didn't know he possessed. For the first time since he'd escaped from Azkaban, Sirius truly felt free. He knew he shouldn't have come to the Ministry, but he couldn't sit at home any longer, while others fought the good fight. He remembered yelling at Harry… _Nice one_, he'd said. He'd had to stop himself from calling Harry "James". He'd done that quite a bit before, too: nearly slipping and calling Harry by his father's name. It made Sirius wonder if he was descending into madness. It didn't make much sense. Harry was nothing like James. Sure, he looked like him. But where James had been smugly self-confident, and a bit egotistic, Harry was almost his polar opposite in personality. Sirius had noticed it the year he'd spent in hiding on the grounds of the school. Harry wasn't quite what Sirius would call aloof, but he was rather hesitant with his affections, but once they were given, Harry fiercely protected those he chose to love and cherish.

He remembered throwing his head back and laughing. _Careless…_ Taunting Bellatrix, knowing it would enrage her. She'd never had the best temper. Laughing until her curse hit him squarely in the chest. He'd had a spare moment to register it with shock.

And then a strange sensation of falling backwards and never once hitting the ground. _Why don't I land on the ground?_ he wondered.

Falling, falling… Eternal falling.

Until he sat up with a gasp.

*****

James stood in a swiftly-moving river, skipping stones idly in the bright sunlight. 'Ever have regrets, Pads?'

Sirius slowly opened his eyes. _Where the bloody hell am I? _'James?' he croaked. There was a _splash_ and cool water stippled his body.

'Well, who else?' James said with slight impatience. 'D'you ever have regrets?' he repeated.

'Sometimes,' Sirius allowed, carefully sitting up, waiting for his head to fall off. _I must be dreaming… Yeah, that's it… I indulged too much in drink last night…_

'We should have kept you as the Secret-Keeper,' James mused. 'I should have listened to Lily. She never trusted that rat, anyway.' There was the sound of rippling water, and James stepped onto the grassy riverbank. His trousers were rolled up to his knees, exposing his pale legs, liberally dusted with black hair. 'Maybe if we had gone through with it, the way things were originally planned, we might have been able to raise Harry ourselves.'

'Why did you do that?' Sirius wondered.

James sighed. 'You were the easy choice. That made you dangerous.'

'I wouldn't have told,' Sirius said mulishly. 'Not even under an Imperious or a Cruciatus.'

'I know,' James said quietly. 'One day…' he growled.

'What?'

'One day, I'm going to get my hands on that rat-faced git and beat him into a bloody pulp.'

Sirius didn't miss the steely undercurrent in his friend's voice. He had never heard it in James' voice before… _Not until they found out Lily was pregnant. And then all the time once Harry was born and they went into hiding… _

He took a deep breath. 'I regret…' The breath slowly blew out. 'I regret going after Peter. Because I left Harry alone.' He glanced at James, sitting cross-legged next to him. 'Am I dreaming?'

In reply, James reached out and savagely pinched Sirius' nipple through the material of his shirt.

'Ow!' Sirius yelled, sitting up, and slapping James hand away, rubbing the offended bit of skin. 'That hurt!'

'It was supposed to,' James said diffidently.

'Guess I'm not dreaming, then,' Sirius mumbled, still trying to rub the sting away from his chest. 'I'm dead, aren't I?' he asked hesitantly.

James nodded.

'Well, then…' Sirius stared at the glittering water. 'I regret never telling…' He paused. 'Remus…' he said in low, choked voice.

'What? That you're…' James snorted in amusement. 'We knew. Just like you and I knew that he was a werewolf when we were twelve, Remus and I knew about you when we were thirteen.'

'Did it… bother… you?'

James shook his head. 'Nah. Didn't change _you_, you swotty wanker.'

'I can feel the love…' Sirius muttered sarcastically. 'No, I regret not telling Remus…'

'He knew,' James interrupted.

'Oh…' Sirius said weakly. 'I know he didn't reciprocate… And never would.'

'I know.' James looked at his bare toes for a long moment, tactfully allowing Sirius a moment to collect himself. 'Snivellus…' he finally sighed.

'What about him?' Sirius said sharply.

James made a small gesture with a hand. 'Do you ever… regret…?'

Sirius flopped back down to the grass and watched fat, fluffy clouds float across the clear blue sky. 'I don't know…' he replied stiffly.

James peered down at Sirius. He supposed Sirius hadn't had the opportunity to observe like he had. 'I do,' he said simply. 'Doesn't mean I like the slimy git,' he added quickly. 'But still…'

Sirius said nothing, keeping his gaze on the clouds overhead.


	15. Mothers

She remembered. Not in a way others would recognize, but she remembered.

She remembered her baby. His round cheeks and gurgling laugh. There was a corner of her mind that always knew it was him.

Small things stayed with her, inside her ruined mind. That he had gotten Drooble's Best Blowing Gum stuck in his hair when he was small. That's when she pestered the Healers, in her own way, for as many pieces of the stuff as they could give her. Every time they visited, she would press a piece of gum into his hands. Eventually, the Healers just gave her the wrappers, but she could still remember it had been something he liked. She would run after him, if they left before she could give him the wrapper. Or at least it had felt like running…

She could hear the… What…? What ever it was, it sounded angry and huffy. She didn't remember the other one's face, but he… He always took them and tucked them into a pocket with a murmur and a small smile.

She didn't know how else to tell him she remembered. She knew what she wanted to say. But her mouth didn't seem to work anymore.

She remembered, even when his face lost some of its baby roundness. When his voice changed from the high-pitched laughter of childhood to the baritone it finally settled into… When…? She wasn't sure. It seemed like one day, he was the little boy she cradled in her arms and the next day he was… Completely unfamiliar. But she still knew it was him.

After all, how could a mother forget her son?


	16. Socks

At first, Dobby thought he had died and gone to heaven. Not literally of course, that was laughable. Harry had been there. Harry wouldn't let him really die.

A pillow on his small bed was a shirt that had been stuffed and sewn shut. Every drawer in the tiny bureau held clothes – small trousers and shirts, socks, hats. Even a coat and gloves

The walls were painted a cheerful yellow with a border of coats, scarves, and mittens that danced around the middle of the wall. Even the lampshade was shaped like a sock.

In the beginning, he spent days arranging and rearranging his things to his liking, pleased to have something he could call his own. He didn't stop to wonder why nobody had called him to do anything.

In the beginning he thought perhaps Harry had made this room for him. That the knife Bellatrix had thrown didn't kill him. That the room was a place for him to convalesce until he was better, and Harry would return to Hogwarts where Dobby could once again look after him.

He didn't realize where he was exactly until he finally ventured from his room.

The first person he saw was the boy that had died in the Triwizard tournament. The one Harry had been clinging

Then he saw a pair of twins that reminded him of Harry's Wheezy. He was certain he'd seen a photograph of them somewhere at Hogwarts and heard Harry talk about making them proud.

Then that grizzled man who had taught at Hogwarts that one year… The one with the magical eye. He had been killed on the trip to fetch Harry from his relatives.

Dobby felt his feet grow cold in his new socks. He timidly approached a tall man who resembled Harry and cleared his throat. It sounded like a mouse squeaking.

'Is I dead?' he asked faintly.


	17. Unsettled Questions

Ariana approached the tall, thin man with flowing silver hair and a beard to match. 'Albus!' she said delightedly. She ran with coltish grace to her elder brother and threw her arms around him. 'Oh, Albus…'

Albus looked down at her, his fingers tracing over the lines of her face. The light in her eyes was what it had been before… Before she had been attacked by those boys. 'Ariana…' he breathed.

Ariana's fingers traced over the ridges and furrows of her brother's lined face. 'Have you a life on your conscience?' she asked, almost playfully.

'A great many,' he told her, capturing her wrists in his hands. 'Yours, first and foremost.'

Childlike, Ariana snuggled against Albus. 'I don't even know whose spell it was,' she told him. 'You ought not to blame yourself.'

Albus tucked a strand of hair away from Ariana's eyes. 'But I do. If I hadn't…'

Ariana shook her head. 'I was glad it happened,' she insisted. 'It was a terrible way to live.' She leaned against Albus, her head resting on his shoulder. 'I had no control of my magic and no desire to use it at all. I was miserable. It was a relief when it was over.' She rose on her toes and kissed Albus' cheek. 'Did you ever think about it like that?'

'No.'

She tossed her hair over her shoulder and snorted derisively. 'Of course you didn't.' She started to walk away. 'You always did think about yourself first, Albus.'


	18. Lamentations

**A/N**: Fi, this one's for you...

* * *

There were times when Sirius felt like a fifth wheel. And there were only three of them.

James was off with Lily, almost obsessively watching over Harry, and Sirius was left to his own devices. He found a small, isolated clearing and flung himself to the ground, covering his eyes with a forearm, baking in the bright sunlight. He lay in artless repose, drifting in and out of awareness, nearly unmoving until he felt a cool shadow slant over his face. Scowling, Sirius pulled his arm away from his face and squinted at the face looming over him. 'You did not age well,' the figure chortled, folding himself down next to Sirius. Gideon shook his bright red hair away from his eyes and stretched out on the warm grass, head turned slightly to gaze at his erstwhile friend.

'Twelve years of Azkaban will do that,' Sirius said sourly.

Gideon's eyes closed slowly. 'I know,' he said simply.

'No lecture?' Sirius snorted. 'Nothing about how I'm too hot-headed and I don't think about anyone else but myself? Going to needle me about my immaturity?'

'I'm not Molly,' Gideon sighed.

'Just as well you weren't there,' Sirius continued. 'One less person to let down or disappoint.'

Gideon rolled over onto his side and propped his head up on a hand, his elbow resting on the ground. 'You never let me down.'

'Ooooh!' Sirius drawled caustically. 'I didn't let down the one person who didn't expect anything of me.'

'Touché,' Gideon murmured.

Sirius felt his chin tremble and to his dismay, he began to cry. Gideon slid an arm under Sirius' shoulders and drew him closer. Sirius turned his face into Gideon's shoulder, lamenting his failures.


	19. One Short Sleep

Arthur woke up, yawned, stretched, and lazily scratched his stomach and chest. Molly was still curled up under the quilt, making Arthur smile. She still rose at six, even after their grandchildren had children of their own. 'Having a bit of a lie-in, before Harry and Ginny's lot descends on us?' he chuckled. Lily's youngest child was going to start his last year Hogwarts in a few weeks, and Molly had insisted on having all of them over for dinner. His smile faded slowly. 'Molly?' He reached over and gently shook her shoulder a little. 'Molly…?' His hand brushed over her check and he stilled, his heart pounding. 'You're cold,' he said in a small voice, drawing the quilt over her shoulder. Arthur spooned behind Molly, one of his hands covering hers. 'Molly…' he whispered, shuddering, unable to picture waking up the next morning without her, and unwilling to leave her alone.

Arthur had always assumed he would go first. That incident in the Ministry with Voldemort's snake had given him a healthy sense of his own mortality. He knew he should have died then, but didn't. It struck him as supremely unfair that Molly's turn came first. There was still too much left unfinished. Percy's Christmas jumper still dangled from her ancient knitting needles, half-done. There were still batches of biscuits to bake and pack into tins to send to their great-grandchildren that were still in school. The blanket for James' first grandchild hadn't been wrapped, and Liam's wife, Rachael, was due any day.

He held Molly tighter and squeezed his eyes shut, aware he was only delaying the inevitable.

Arthur didn't realize how much time had passed, but the morning sunlight had brightened into blinding afternoon. 'Dad?' Ginny crouched next to the bed. 'Dad…'

Arthur's eyes opened and he looked at his youngest child, suddenly cognizant of how old she really was. Her once-vibrant hair had faded into an indeterminate ivory and a fine web of lines bracketed her dark eyes.

Harry stood behind her, hair still messy, but iron grey. 'They're here… For…' he choked, staring wide-eyed at Molly.

Arthur nodded once, and unwound his fingers from Molly's hand, pressing a kiss to her cheek, before he sat up stiffly and accepted the worn dressing gown Harry handed him and belted his loosely around his middle and stood looking out the window overlooking the back garden at Molly's flowerbeds. 'What am I going to do without her?' he breathed, and Harry and Ginny knew he wasn't just talking about himself – he spoke for all of them.


	20. Echo Through Light

'Liam!' Ginny grimaced as pain shot through her knees. 'Liam, this Cushioning charm isn't going to last much longer and I'm getting too damn old to talk through the Floo like this!'

Liam Potter knelt in front of his fireplace, cradling his son, David, in his arms. 'Keep your hair on, Gran,' he whispered. 'Rachael just went to sleep. Davy's teething.'

'Fussy, is he?'

'Just a little,' Liam replied with a grimace. 'This is the most he's been settled all day.'

'Poor lad,' Ginny murmured sympathetically. 'Perhaps he needs a distraction.'

Liam settled on the hearthrug and fixed his grandmother with a look. 'He's barely six months old, Gran. He hardly needs a distraction.' He smoothed the dark unruly hair over David's head and muttered, 'What do you want, Gran?'

'What makes you think I want something?' Ginny asked innocently.

'Because you have a way of telling us what to do in the form of a suggestion,' Liam snorted.

'Because Potter males are remarkably stubborn,' Ginny retorted. 'Just you wait until that one discovers he's got his own mind.' She smiled guilelessly at her eldest grandson, but his liquid, dark eyes merely narrowed. 'Oh, all right,' she huffed. 'Could you drop by the Burrow tomorrow afternoon?'

'Why?'

'To distract Dad,' she admitted.

'Is there something wrong with Grandda?' Liam asked worriedly.

'No… But we – Uncle Bill, Auntie Fleur, Uncle Charlie, Auntie Bronwyn, Uncle Percy, Auntie Penny, Uncle George, Auntie Katie, Uncle Ron, Auntie Hermione, your grandfather and I – need to discuss a few things, and –'

'And you need to distract him with something shiny so the lot of you can move him out of the home he's known his entire life and have him come live with one of you?' Liam drawled sarcastically in a manner reminiscent of James in his adolescent heyday.

'Don't speak to me in that tone, young man,' Ginny chided heatedly. 'You're not too old for me to hex.' She sighed. 'It would take a pry bar to remove him, anyway. No, we just want to arrange times to come check on him after lunch. Make sure he's eating and the like.'

Liam bit his lip and looked at Ginny. 'Fine…'

*****

Ron looked around the long table. _When did Charlie's hair get so white…? At least he still has his_, he thought, glancing at Charlie's thick mane of hair. _Bill's is looking a bit thinner on top, poor sod. The only truly vain one out of all of us about his hair and it's thinning…_ His gaze turned to his left, where Harry always sat. ­_If it weren't for those lines around his eyes and mouth, you'd think he was James' age…_ Harry kept his eyes resolutely on the top of the table under his interlaced hands, avoiding the stove where Molly usually would have bustled about, fretting about the amount of food they left on their plate. _Took Mum's death awfully hard_, Ron mused. _Only mother he ever knew, though…_ Someone was speaking to him. 'What?'

'What can Dad actually cook?' Percy asked.

'Simple stuff,' Ron grunted. 'He won't starve if we come by at irregular intervals.'

'We'll check on him every couple of days then.'

'Just don't come at the same time,' Bronwyn muttered.

'Why?' George asked vaguely. He, like Harry, had taken Molly's death rather badly.

'Because we don't want him to get suspicious,' Katie murmured soothingly. 'That we think he can't look after himself.'

'Right…' George seemed to shrink into himself a little.

'We know he can manage the laundry,' Penny stated. 'I don't think even Arthur had a six-month supply of socks…'

Harry suddenly pushed his chair away from the table and slipped out of the kitchen, muttering something about seeing if Arthur needed tea. He took a deep breath as the door swung shut behind him. Arthur cradled David with a wistful, albeit somewhat sad, expression on his face, while Liam hovered next to them. Harry knew he was wishing Molly were there to coo over their latest great-great grandchild. It was the same expression he'd worn each time his own children had been born and later their children, when he'd wished, yet again, his parents could have seen them. Harry eased down on the sofa on Arthur's other side. 'How is it, then?' he said softly. Davy grinned gummily at him, his blue eyes, echoes of Arthur's, crinkling at the sight of his great-grandfather.

'They're discussing how best to look after me, aren't they?' Arthur asked casually talking to the baby, rather than either Harry or Liam.

'Something like that,' Harry affirmed.

Arthur tickled David, making him giggle. 'Well, if it makes them feel better to do something…'

'You're taking it well,' Liam stated. 'Gran would have hexed anyone within a twelve-foot radius had they tried to do that behind her back.'

'Your grandmother's always been rather independent,' Arthur chuckled. 'Just like her mother.'

Liam's face grew stricken. 'Sorry, Grandda…'

'Ah, no worries, then, Liam. I spent more than eighty years with Molly. Can't act as if it never happened.' He handed David to Harry. 'I think I'm going to have a bit of a kip. Come wake me when you lot head home, eh?' He stiffly rose from the sofa. For the first time in his life, he _felt_ old.

Arthur climbed slowly up the stairs, gripping the banister tightly. They tilted to one side and he crumpled to the floor.

*****

Arthur rolled the plug in his pocket between his fingers. He pulled it out and marveled at the molded plastic. This one was unlike the others he had. Instead of the prongs that sometimes painfully poked him in the leg, it had openings in its face. 'Why would it need those?' he asked aloud, thumbnail tracing their outlines.

It was then that he saw her.

Just as she was the day he realized he was hopelessly arse-over-elbow in love with her. Dumbledore had allowed the Dueling Club to hold an exhibition, and she had calmly sent a simple, yet effective hex at her opponent, rendering him unable to continue, then serenely polished her wand on the sleeve of her robes. She barely came up to his chest, and despite her air of competence, she looked frazzled. Her robes were slightly too big, as if her parents had bought them that way on purpose, in case she grew during the year. Her hair was a frizzled halo of bright red curls that more often than not escaped her attempts to the tame it into a plait. But her wide brown eyes sparked with laughter when one of her older brothers mounted the dais to have a go with her. They were the color of the aged Firewhisky he'd tasted at his great-grandfather's funeral over the summer hols.

It was Molly before the children came along. Before the first war etched a permanent worry line between her brows. Before the second added the shadow of losing a child.

And she was in front of him, with one hand outstretched.

Arthur looked down at it dumbfounded. Her lips moved, but he couldn't hear was she was saying over the rush of blood in his ears. The murmurs of the others – of their children long past birth – echoed in his bones.

The murmurs rushed over him in lazy river currents. In an eddy of silence he could hear her clearly. 'You can do what you like,' Molly told him. 'You can either turn round and go back to them…'

'Or?' he asked quietly.

She didn't reply, but merely gestured with her hand.

Arthur turned slightly. He could see them clustered around his body, lying on the first landing. Bronwyn worked feverishly, chanting spells and incantations, desperately trying to keep him there. George huddled in the corner, almost shielding himself behind Katie. Percy wept shamelessly, while Charlie's face didn't betray any emotions at all, but that had always been his way. Bill stood behind Ginny, one hand on her shoulder, as if she were the only thing holding him up. Harry clutched David to his chest, frozen at the bottom of the stairs, unwilling to believe the scene unfolding before him.

It was Ron who whispered, 'Stop…' – his fingers splayed over a photograph of them during their fiftieth anniversary party. 'Let him go…'

It was all the encouragement Arthur needed. He resolutely turned his back on them and grasped Molly's small hand in his own, blind to the flash of light that severed his connections to a more corporeal world.

*****

A/N: Did you think I'd let them be apart for very long...?


	21. Confrontation

Before James Potter became a father, he would have been the first to admit he was something of a selfish git. But the day she told him they were expecting a child, everything changed.

It wasn't that he wouldn't do everything in his power to protect Lily, Sirius, or Remus (and he would grudgingly put a Shield charm up between Peter and whatever creature felt he was a tasty snack), but he knew they could help themselves.

But a baby…?

Babies were helpless, defenseless beings, who needed selfless protection.

James had known the first time he'd felt Harry kick, that he would do anything to protect this child, even throw himself in front of Unforgivable, if it meant Harry would survive. He knew on that fateful night, when Voldemort had blasted through the door of their house that he would die, if it meant his son would live.

So when he realized Remus had abandoned his pregnant wife, James was more than a bit baffled. Nothing short of death would have made him leave Lily when she was carrying Harry.

As much as James longed to confront Remus about it, he didn't think he'd have the opportunity to do it so soon.

He waited what he felt was an appropriate amount of time to allow Remus to adjust to his new state of affairs, then fired his first salvo.

It wasn't hard to find Remus. After so many years of being terrified of a full moon, he now spent hours gazing at it, when the opportunity arose. So James waited, lurking in the darkness until Remus' young wife made her way into the small cottage they shared. James wound his way through the clearing and dropped to the ground next to Remus. 'Moony,' he murmured.

'Prongsie…' Remus waited expectantly for James to continue.

'There's something I don't understand,' James began. 'Why would you leave Tonks and your unborn child?'

'Of course you don't,' Remus retorted. 'You're not a werewolf. You weren't more dangerous than what we were fighting,' he said firmly. 'You didn't know if your child was going to be a werewolf, if he wasn't going to rip and maim his own mother from the inside out,' he said tightly. 'So, no… I couldn't stay there and watch that happen. Watch the only woman I've ever allowed myself to love die because of me. Not because Death Eaters would go after her for marrying me. But because what I am could have infected our child. Something we created during a respite from all the pain and suffering would be the cause of more pain and suffering. You tell me, James… You tell me how I was supposed to have stayed.'

James looked at Remus for a long moment. 'But didn't you cause just as much pain by leaving?'

'I went back,' Remus protested weakly.

'But how much time did you lose? How much time did you lose by being afraid of your own life?' James ran a hand over his hair. 'You know, I never believed you were a coward,' he said conversationally. 'I just thought you didn't like confrontation, and you would just deal with the consequences later. But you took the easy way out on that one, mate.'

James pushed himself to his feet and walked away.

*****

A/N: Credit to Loralu for putting a bug in my 'ear' for this one. And to NellieNotMolly for an apt description of Remus.


	22. Friendship, Loyalty, and Love

The train rumbled through the scarred countryside, smoking piles of rubble dotted the landscape from time to time, and students pressed their noses against the windows to exclaim in wonder over the destruction. 'What are you doing over the holiday, Minerva?' Augusta Rowlands asked.

'Nothing, really,' Minerva McGonagall replied absently, peering at the latest letter she'd received from Alasdair. 'Take my Apparition examination so I don't have to rely on Da to fetch me from King's Cross.'

Augusta looked over Minerva's arm and snorted. 'Oh, honestly, Minerva, you're still writing to that _boy_?'

Minerva gave August a severe look over the frames of her glasses. 'I fail to see the problem, Gussie.'

'Well, he's…' Augusta shifted and turned her gaze to the window.

'What? Working-class? So?'

'That isn't what I meant,' Augusta muttered.

Minerva carefully folded the letter and tucked it into her bag. 'Then what did you mean?'

'I'm sure he's a wonderful sort,' Augusta hedged, pleating her skirt between her fingers. 'But you're only seventeen, Minnie,' she said finally. 'With another year of school, and does he understand your ambitions?'

Minerva laced her hands together. 'I havena told him,' she admitted, her Scots lilt broadening under the emotional stress. She impatiently tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. By the end of the day, her plait would have loosened to the point where several wisps of hair fell around her face in curls and waves. It irritated her to no end.

'We're no' gettin' married, aye?' Minerva snapped peevishly. 'So could ye possibly find another topic, Gussie?'

'Neville wrote to me,' Augusta said quietly. 'The Minister's considering their proposal to embed wizards in the British Army and Navy. They'll have to pass all sorts of exams meant to test their ability to adapt to Muggle society.'

'That would discount most pure-bloods,' Minerva scoffed. 'They can hardly tolerate automobiles.'

The station came into view and Augusta pulled her school bag down from the overhead rack. 'My cousin managed to get a Portkey from France two weeks ago,' she whispered fearfully. 'She told my mother they took her husband.'

'Who took him?'

'The ones in the black uniforms. Carrie said they came in the middle of the night. She was able to put a Disillusionment charm on herself, but not to Jean-Claude before they burst into their bedroom. They knew about Carrie. She said they beat him severely asking for her, but he wouldn't say anything. Then they dragged him out into the street and threw him into a lorry. She asked discreetly where they had gone. All anyone could tell her was east. Into Poland or Germany.'

Minerva collected her things and prepared to leave the compartment. Aurors were emptying one carriage at a time, putting up Shield charms over the students' heads until they were handed off to a waiting parent. 'That's horrible…'

'It is…' Augusta hefted her bag to her shoulder. 'What are we going to do about it?'

Minerva turned sharply around. 'What can we do? If we do something on a large scale, we might as well violate the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy,' she said primly.

'And we can't continue to do nothing,' Augusta argued. 'Jean-Claude was a wizard, Minnie. And we can't be certain that more wizards or witches won't be arrested like he was!' She opened the door of the carriage at the Auror's signal. 'Carrie said he was forced to leave his wand behind. He might as well be a Muggle now.' She hastily descended to the platform. 'Any action is worth it, Minnie, no matter how small it seems.'

Minerva followed Augusta off the train and met her father standing in the shadows of a pillar. 'Da…'

'_Ciamar a tha thu_, Minnie?' Angus McGonagall rumbled

'_Tha mi gle mhath, athair_.'

Angus reached for Minerva's trunk. 'The journey wasna dangerous?'

'No, Da.'

'Come, then. I dinna like bein' in London wi' those aeroplanes droppin' bombs. We might be able t' protect Diagon Alley, Platform Nine and Three Quarters, the Ministry, and St. Mungo's, but I dinna want t' be caught here in case something breaks through, aye?' Angus held out his hand, and Minerva took it, firmly settling her bag on her shoulder. She understood the reasoning behind making all the students undertake the journey to and from Hogwarts together on the train. It built camaraderie. But it was awfully inconvenient when she had to basically turn round and return to the Highlands to go home. She practically traveled the distance twice in one day. Before he could Apparate, Angus brushed tendrils of Minerva's hair from her eyes. 'I'm glad to hae ye home, Minnie. It's been lonely wi'out ye, lass.'

Minerva merely squeezed his hand with a smile. Proclamations of affection were rare, and yet there was no doubt in her mind her father loved her. He turned and the tense buzz that surrounded them on Platform Nine and Three Quarters vanished, replaced with the cliffs, mountains, lochs and towering forests of her beloved Highlands. Her shoulders dropped a fraction. _Home_, she thought contentedly. Hogwarts might have been nestled in the Highlands as well, but here she could wander peaks and valleys freely. With Alasdair.

* * *

'Book list's arrived,' Angus told Minerva when she came down for breakfast one morning in early August. 'I'll tae ye down t' London wi' me next week for yer things.'

Minerva lifted the heavy, black hair from her neck and fanned it across her shoulders. 'All right.'

Angus eyed her clothing – a pair of sturdy Muggle trousers, sensible shoes meant for hiking, and a thick jumper. 'What are yer plans for today, lass?' he asked mildly, although he suspected they involved Alasdair.

'Devil's Staircase.' Minerva picked up a bannock, still warm from the oven, and broke it in half, slathering it with butter and drizzling honey over it.

'Wi' the wee lad?'

Minerva picked up the elderly brown teapot and poured a cup. 'Wee lad? Is that what we're callin' him?' she chuckled mirthfully. Alasdair was well over six feet tall and with broad shoulders. Minerva herself wasn't exactly petite, but he made her feel as if her height was an advantage. 'But yes, wi' Alasdair.'

Angus stirred his porridge and examining his daughter. 'And how are the twa of ye plannin' on getting' all the way down t' Glencoe?'

Minerva frowned, a line between her eyebrows. 'Bicycle…? Is that the right term?'

Angus pointed his porridge-laden spoon at Minerva. 'I forbid it,' he said sternly. 'Those things are dangerous!'

'No more dangerous than a broom. And ye havena any problems lettin' me play Quidditch, Da.' Minerva sipped her tea, her eyes twinkling impishly at her father over the rim of her cup.

Angus heaved a sigh and crammed his spoon into his mouth. 'Minnie…' he began warningly. 'He's a Muggle…'

'Do ye hae somethin' t' say about it, Da?'

Angus laid his spoon down next to his bowl. 'Hae either o' ye given the slightest thought to how ye'll live, _m'annschd_?'

Minerva pushed her chair back and rounded the table, kneeling at her father's side. 'Da, there isna anythin' between Alasdair and myself.'

'Oh, aye?' Angus snorted skeptically. 'For how long? And with the Muggle war?'

'He's no' joined the British army, Da. Nor the navy.'

'Yet.' Angus gently stroked the strands of hair from her eyes that always seemed to escape from whatever concoction she tried to pin it back. 'Wi' the war, Minnie, people get daft, and do things they wouldna ordinarily do. Like marry someone in haste.'

Minerva clasped his hand between hers. 'I promise ye, Da… I willna make any promises t' Angus until I've finished school next June.'

Angus' mouth crimped, but he nodded, sadness and concern etched in his face. 'I dinna want t' see ye hurt.'

'I ken that, Da, aye?' Minerva unfolded herself to her feet and returned to her abandoned breakfast.

Angus pushed his porridge away. 'It's no' because he's a Muggle, Minnie,' he said heavily. 'If ye love him…' he trailed off, embarrassed, face blazing above the dark beard.

Minerva felt warmth creep up her neck and spread over her face. 'He's just courtin' me, Da. And he's kind and most respectful. Doesna try to make me do anythin' I dinna want t' do.'

Angus rubbed his hand over his face. 'Dinna fret, lass,' he mumbled. 'I'd feel the same if ye were seein' the Longbottom lad.'

Minerva only smiled at him and with a flick of her wand, scooped her breakfast dishes from the table and sent them to the sink, where they began to wash themselves. 'I'll see ye when I get home later, aye?' To Angus' surprise, she bent and swiftly kissed his cheek. 'I'm takin' my wand.'

'Is that supposed t' make me feel better?' Angus asked dryly.

'Did it?' Minerva's smile grew wider, and she slipped through the door of the house, not waiting for his answer.

Alasdair waited at the end of the lane, balancing two bicycles. His dark reddish-brown hair played in the wind, and he grinned as she joined him. 'I didna think to ask if ye knew how to ride one of these infernal contraptions.'

'I know how,' Minerva said uneasily. 'Havena ridden one for longer than a few minutes, though.'

'We'll be on them for a few hours,' Alasdair laughed. 'Ye'll get the feel for it soon enough.'

Minerva fingered the plaid wool draped over one of his shoulders. 'I see ye're broadcasting your Scots pride this morning.'

Alasdair's expression shifted into something that wasn't quite a leer, but it was close. 'Would ye like t' see if I'm wearin' it properly, Min?' He twitched the muted woolen kilt so it swirled around his knees.

Minerva's mouth dropped open, and she stared at him in consternation. 'Erm… I…'

Alasdair's laugh boomed around the valley. 'I'm just teasin' ye, Min. I happen to be wearin' pants under the thing. Too scratchy otherwise.' He held one of the bicycles out to Minerva. 'Shall we?'

Minerva took a deep breath and straddled the bicycle, pushing off in a wobbly line. 'Are ye not comin'?' she called over her shoulder.

* * *

Alasdair pulled the plaid off his shoulder and spread it over the ground. 'Sit…' he murmured, unstrapping a picnic hamper from the back of his bicycle. Minerva lowered herself to the edge of the plaid looking over Loch Leven. 'Ye wouldna ken there's a war goin' on from here,' he said wistfully.

'It's the same at school,' Minerva said absently.

Alasdair set the hamper next to her and joined her on the plaid. 'Where is this bloody school of yours?'

'It's a little remote…' Minerva temporized. 'In the mountains… In the north… Hasn't been touched by the war yet.'

'No rationin'?' Angus said in surprise. He'd used nearly his entire week's ration of sugar to make the biscuits packed in the lunch.

Minerva once again felt her face erupt in flames. She had felt extraordinarily guilty the entire previous year, seeing the Gryffindor table nearly groaning under the weight of the food they were served at meals, knowing Alasdair made do with what he had been allotted by the British government. 'Some,' she stammered.

'Do ye still get eggs?' Alasdair asked longingly. 'I'm supposed t' hae one egg a week. Canna find any and I dinna trust the black market.'

'We do. School has a garden and greenhouses. Chickens…' The freshening wind off the lock blew several tendrils of hair across Minerva's nose and mouth. With a huff of dismay, she impatiently scraped them back, in a vain attempt to tame them into the combs that held the sides of her hair back.

'Sounds nice,' Alasdair commented idly.

'It is.'

'Does it hae a name?'

'Ye wouldna know it.'

'Because I'm workin' class? It's that posh?'

'Posh?' Minerva pictured the myriad Weasleys that lined the Gryffindor table. She wouldn't call them posh. The only students she knew to be truly wealthy were the Blacks, Malfoys, and Lestranges. She and her father didn't want for anything, but he was a frugal sort with his Galleons. 'No. It isna posh, Alasdair. A wee bit exclusive, though. You generally go if your parents were students there.'

'I've signed up wi' the Army,' Alasdair said abruptly.

Minerva froze. 'What did ye say?'

'I joined the Army.'

'Why?'

'Everyone else I know has signed up. And it isna as if I hae anything here,' he argued. Minerva visibly stiffened and edged away. Alasdair's large hand landed on her knee. 'I dinna mean it like that, Min,' he said stiffly. 'I'd be most honored if ye waited for me to return. If I return,' he amended. 'There's no work for the likes o' me. There isn't a university in Scotland, Ireland, England, or Wales that'll tae me on as a student. I finished school because it was important to me mam. We left Ft. William and went to Glasgow when the war started so she could find work. It's a base for the Home Fleet, aye? And Mam hoped I might learn a trade. The Luftwaffe blitzed Greenock, where we were livin' and Mam… She died in one o' the fires. So I was left on me own. Greenock was… Parts o' it were piles o' rubble. And I came back here.' Alasdair ran his fingers through Minerva's hair, tugging the combs out so it billowed around her head. 'Min… ye dinna hae anythin' to say?'

'I'm sorry about your mother,' she said softly. Her own mother had caught dragon pox when Minerva was five, while she'd nursed Minerva through it. By the time anyone had realized how ill she was, Flora McGonagall was delirious with fever. She'd died just a few days later. Minerva only had a few hazy memories of her, of the striped tabby cat that loyally followed her mother around the house, the thistle she arranged in a small vase on the table. 'Do ye ken where they're goin' to send ye?'

'No. The continent, India, North Africa… Could be anywhere.' Alasdair brushed his mouth over hers. 'I'll tell ye as soon as I know.' He rummaged in the hamper, and emerged with a small velvet drawstring bag. 'Me mam said this was a load of superstitious Irish rubbish,' he said, as he shook a small silver ring into the palm of his hand. 'If it wasna Scots, it wasna worth her time.' He turned the ring around in his fingers. 'Me da brought it back from Ireland when they wed,' he explained. 'I'm no' askin' ye to marry me, Min,' he added hastily. 'Just that ye wait for me.'

Minerva took the ring and held it up. A small heart was cradled between two hands and topped with a crown. 'What does it mean?'

Alasdair's blunt finger lightly touched each part of the ring as he named it. 'Heart is love, obviously.'

'Oh, obviously…'

'Mind the cheek, lass,' Alasdair teased, his head bent close to hers. 'The hands are friendship, and the crown is loyalty.' He rotated the ring so the crown faced away from them. 'Ye wear it like that if ye're single,' he informed her. 'On your right hand.' He spun it so the crown faced them. 'Like this if your heart's tae'n.' His voice was husky in the clear afternoon.

Minerva looked up into Alasdair's face, hope shining in his eyes. She took the ring and began to slide it onto her left hand, but Alasdair stilled the motion. 'Is somethin' amiss?'

'No' that hand,' he said seriously. 'No' until we're married, aye?' He picked up her right hand and gently slid the ring over her finger. 'I gie ye my heart wi' my twa hands an' crown it wi'my loyalty,' he said softly, cradling her hand between his, and pressing a kiss on its back.

Minerva wriggled her finger, watching the gleam of the silver, then without warning, rose on her knees and threw her arms around Alasdair. The forward motion sent him toppling over on his back. She quite thoroughly kissed him, leaving them both breathless. 'If ye die, I will have to kill ye.'

'I'll do me best no' to die, _mo chride._'

Minerva's hair fell in silken sheets around them. Curtained from the rest of the world, she allowed herself to say something she normally would never have uttered aloud. '_Tha gaol agam ort_.' _I love you_.

'_Tha gaol agam ort-fhèin, mo nighean mhaiseach.'_

_

* * *

_

Minerva drew her cloak around her body tightly and scurried from Greenhouse Five to the castle in the thickly falling snow. Inside an inner pocket of her school bag resided a small photograph of Alasdair in his army uniform, along with what letters she had been able to receive from the front in Africa. Her father sent news of the war when he could manage. It was still more than Alasdair could tell her. His letters had been heavily censored to the point where nearly all that was left were their names and comments about the weather. They were bundled together with the ribbon she'd worn around the end of her plait the day he left.

It was bitterly cold, as it usually was in February, when the promise of spring seemed like a cruel joke, and all she wanted at that moment was a seat by the fire in the Gryffindor common room.

The warmth of the entrance of the school nearly slapped her in the face, and made the lenses of her glasses opaque with fog. Cursing under her breath, she pulled them off, and haphazardly wiped them on the front of her cloak.

'Ah, Miss McGonagall! I was just coming to take you out of class.' Professor Dumbledore strode toward her, looking unusually grave.

'I wasn't the one who changed Professor Flitwick's tea to whisky during class,' Minerva stated.

'Guilty conscience, Miss McGonagall?'

'No.'

'It has nothing to do with the incident in Charms. However, I must speak to you in private.' Dumbledore indicated the staircase that would take them to the Transfiguration classroom. Mystified, Minerva ascended the staircase ahead of him and followed Dumbledore into the empty classroom. He waved his wand, and the door partially closed behind him. He made another expansive wave of his wand and a squashy armchair floated in mid-air for a moment, before it lowered to the floor with a soft _thump_. 'Please, Miss McGonagall, sit down.' He took the chair behind the desk and drew a letter from the sleeve of his robes. Minerva recognized Alasdair's hand on the crumpled envelope.

'I'd rather stand, if you don't mind,' she told Dumbledore, the corner of her mouth turning up slightly, as she imagined how Alasdair would laugh at the decidedly plummy accent she adopted at school.

'I insist that you take the chair,' Dumbledore repeated, a hint of steely command in his voice.

Minerva warily perched on the edge, eyeing the envelope. It was smudged with dirt, or so she thought. 'Why have you got my letter?'

Dumbledore's normally twinkling eyes were somber. 'Your father owled this to me.' He gently pushed the envelope across the desk.

Minerva felt as though time slowed, her heart struggling to beat. _They never go to Da first…_ She slowly rose from the chair and took a tentative step back from the desk. Her head shook in mute denial.

'Minerva, take the letter…'

_If ye dinna read it, it didna happen_, a voice whispered in her ear. 'No…'

'Minerva, you have to take the letter.'

'No. I willna, and ye canna make me,' she said thickly. She took another step back.

Dumbledore picked up the envelope and held it out. 'Believe me, Minerva, it's best if you do take it and read it. It will make the next days and weeks more bearable…'

Haltingly, Minerva reached out and plucked the envelope from Dumbledore's fingers. Two sheets of paper fell into her trembling hands. 'Kasserine… In Tunisia…' Her knees gave out and she crumpled into the armchair. Her breath came in shallow gasps, as she unfolded the one written by Alasdair.

_Minerva, mo chride… If you are reading this, I suppose you'll have to kill me…_

_I have no regrets, Min, and neither should you._

_Love, friendship, and loyalty to the very end…_

_Alasdair_

_

* * *

_A/N: Quick translation of the Scots Gaelic...

_Ciamar a tha thu? _- How are you?

_Tha mi gle mhath, athair. - _I am well, father.

_m'annschd - _my best beloved

_mo chride _- my heart

_Tha gaol agam ort. _ - I love you.

_Tha gaol agam ort-fhèin, mo nighean mhaiseach. - _I love you, too, my beautiful girl


	23. Musings Of a Spring Afternoon

_At least it isn't raining_, Al thought to himself, glancing upward at the pallid grey sky. He imagined himself fortunate in that it hadn't dawned a sunny day, which he felt would be the ultimate insult today.

The small white coffin was all but submerged under a blanket of tiny pale pink rosebuds. The roses emitted a sweet, heady fragrance, despite their small size. Al used to like the smell of roses in the summer, but today, they made his stomach turn. He turned his attention to the trio of white headstones several yards away that bore the names of his paternal grandparents, as well as his father's godfather. Even in the muted light of this particular morning, they shone with an otherworldly glimmer. Al had often found himself musing over the past few days on the existence of an afterlife. He hoped, rather than believed, that if one existed, perhaps his grandmother Lily might keep an eye on his daughter.

Abigail.

The name twisted in his heart, and Al had to suppress the urge to gasp, to fight for his next breath. He could still feel her negligible weight in his arms, as he cradled her against his chest, willing her heart to beat, just one more time until it stopped. The downy black fluff that tickled his chin.

Al felt, rather than heard, the shuddering sigh that signaled Bailey keeping an iron grip on her own grief. She wouldn't give in to the luxury of tears just now. Not in front of the assembled family and certainly not in a communal location like the cemetery. She'd been raised to keep her emotions in check while out in public, and with her mother Emily standing stiffly to the side, it took a Herculean effort to maintain her control over them. His arm tightened around Bailey's hunched shoulders and she let her head rest briefly against his chest before resolutely straightening her body and staring straight ahead.

Al's eyes shifted back to the coffin. Not for the first time since Bailey and he had been informed of Abigail's prognosis, Al wondered if he was being punished for some sin he had committed in his more reckless days. _They weren't that long ago_, he admitted to himself. He had been foolish then. Willful and arrogant to a fault. The number of people he had hurt and disappointed had been legion. While the family wasn't really religious, his cousin Hugo had spent years making a study of the subject and how it molded human behavior. Al made a mental note to corner Hugo and demand to know what kind of deity felt the need to punish a father by snatching away his child. He felt a hand wrap around his free one and glanced down to see his stepson Lucas take a step closer. _Should we have let Lucas come to Abby's funeral?_ Al asked himself. Lucas wasn't quite nine years old. Perhaps nine was a bit young to handle the death of an eagerly awaited baby sister. Al was having more than rough time handling it himself at the age of twenty-four.

A loud clicking sound penetrated through the fog enveloping Al, and he lifted his head to see a few photographers clustered outside the wrought-iron fence, intruding on his private anguish. _Why can't they leave me alone, especially today?_ More _clicks_ accompanied by puffs of purple smoke that drifted over the fence. Al stared straight at them for a long moment, then deliberately returned his focus to the coffin. It was so close, he could have touched it, had he wanted.

A loud _pop_ echoed through the valley, and another photographer joined the others. He didn't waste time, taking photographs as soon as he appeared. Al's shoulders stiffened at the sound. James, standing behind him, shifted Liam to his other hip, and in the process managed to move so he partially blocked Al from view. Fred and Jacob casually rearranged their positions to shield Bailey, and Parker, keeping a firm grip on his daughter's hand, completed the veritable wall by standing between the photographers and Lucas. Al silently exhaled with relief. Whatever they might have thought about him, and whatever grudge they might still carry, they would ensure something this personal would remain free of encroachment by the press.

The Ministry witch held her wand aloft, signaling the end of the service. Al hadn't heard a single word. He abruptly stepped forward, and yanked a handful of the roses from the arrangement draped over the coffin. They were nearly the same shade as Abigail's fragile skin, and almost as soft. He didn't know the first thing about preserving the roses. Perhaps Molly or Ginny would know. He wanted some sort of tangible reminder of his daughter's brief life. There was, in fact, a single photograph of Abigail taken when she was a few hours old. Al had peeked at it, of course, out of a morbid sense of curiosity, but it only brought choking despondency when he realized the swaddled figure bore little resemblance to the child he'd cuddled.

The witch gently set the coffin down in the ground and Bailey stepped forward, body rigid, to scoop a handful of damp earth from the pile nearby and delicately scatter it over Abigail's coffin. Lucas copied his mother's actions, a line deepening between his small brows as he concentrated on not flinging the dirt into the grave. Al watched numbly as his own hand filled with soil, clenched around it, then opened over the gaping hole in the ground, allowing it to stream lightly from his fist. Bailey took Lucas' hand and the two of them began to pick their way toward the kissing gate. Al took one last look over his shoulder. A small headstone of ivory-hued marble, shot through with dusky pink veins, had appeared at the head of a mound of earth covering the grave.

_Abigail Margaret Potter  
22 April 2031 – 24 April 2031_

Al felt a hand on his shoulder and he blinked hard, Harry's face set in impassive lines swimming into view. Al's head ducked in a small nod. The stronger the emotions, the more expressionless Harry became. You had to look at his eyes. The sadness he saw in them was more than a reflection of his own. After all the death his father had seen, this one made the least sense of them all.


End file.
